Dawn
by theheartofadetective
Summary: She wanted to groan, angry that her body had woken her at such an early hour, but she knew that she should stay quiet in courtesy of the form lying next to her. Though, consciousness of him made her more willing to open her eyes.


**A/N: So I really wanted to write some fluff, and I did. I hope you like! :) Also, this is based on a one word prompt: _dawn_.**

Molly tried to bury her face deeper into the pillow; her eyes clamped shut even though she knew dawn's light was peeking into the room through the curtains.

She wanted to groan, angry that her body had woken her at such an early hour, but she knew that she should stay quiet in courtesy of the form lying next to her. Though, consciousness of him made her more willing to open her eyes.

When she did convince herself of that, a tired, light smile spread across her face. A beautiful man faced her, a look of calm and serenity on his face.

She cherished these moments, when the detective looked so peaceful. But sometimes that reminded her of the time when he never was; when he was a dead man walking. When he tried to sort out a network of men ready to kill him and those he cared for the moment he was discovered alive.

He had been back for some time now though, and it was different. Things had fallen into place; Sherlock and John's relationship mended quickly, they went back to taking cases, but one thing in his life before the fall did change.

Sherlock always held Molly important, but now she knew; now she was confident in it. They had been in a real relationship, and Sherlock was trying hard to be a decent boyfriend, to treat her how he should. This was easier said than done, but she loved him nonetheless.

She sighed softly as she gazed at his pale face, his high cheekbone prominent as he lay on his side, the other buried into his pillow. She wished to reach out and trace her fingers along them, but did not want to wake him – if he was even sleeping.

"You're staring," he told her without opening his eyes.

"I am," she said quietly as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him.

She let out another contented sigh as he buried his face in her hair. He pressed light kisses against her skin, her soft neck, her collarbone as he made small hums of satisfaction.

They laid there for what seemed like hours, and could have stayed like that for hours more, comfortable in their positions and with each other.

Molly had learned early on in their relationship what Sherlock had trouble saying in words, he made up for in affection. He was usually touchy, especially in the morning, and she couldn't ask for anything more.

"I love you," she said, her finger tracing along the edge of his ear before her slender fingers ran through his curls.

"Mmm," he hummed in approval as he pulled away from her skin, only to find her lips, taking in her small gasp as his mouth slanted on hers. "I love you too," he mumbled between their passionate kisses.

"I have to get ready for work," she told him reluctantly as his mouth moved to find place along her jaw. In response to her statement, he rolled on top of her, his knees bracing between her legs as he hovered above.

"Call out," he told her simply, finding her lips again as his thumbs found the hemline of her shirt. He pushed under the fabric and caressed his thumbs in small circles over her hip bones.

Molly let out a whine, not wanting to move away from the detective while he was like this. Now that she thought about it, why _was_ he like this? Sure, there were morning where he was affectionate, many, but he never seemed needy quite like this before.

"You know I can't."

Sherlock pulled his back to look at her and she made another whine of disapproval. He had a smirk on his face. "I'm sure your clients don't mind rescheduling."

His fingers ran up her sides now, trying to persuade her. "It's nothing serious anyway. I'm not on any cases."

Molly let out a laugh at his dark joke, but then rolled her eyes that the bodies were not as important if it was not one of his cases. She picked her head up off the pillow and gave him one last peck before he moved off the bed, knowing he had not won.

That was odd too. Sherlock usually fought harder than that when he wanted someone to listen to him, though in his case it was usually for the sake of amusement in teasing Molly so easily. And was that a smirk on his face? She could have sworn.

She walked out of their bedroom, and headed straight for the kitchen. Part of her morning ritual was to make coffee first, so she went to doing that.

She put the grounds in the filter, filled the coffee maker with water, and turned it on.

She then opened the cabinet and took out her mug, the one she used every morning for her coffee; Molly was a creature of habit, after all.

It took her a moment, but she placed the mug on the counter and looked into it. A little box was placed neatly inside, cracked open, and a diamond caught her eye.

Molly covered her mouth upon realisation, staring into the cup for a moment longer. Was this really what she thought it was?

She gently pulled the box out of the cup and saw the ring holding place inside the box. She slipped it onto her finger without even a thought and hurriedly walked back toward the bedroom.

Sherlock was standing next to the bed now, pretending he was not expecting an excited Molly to come back into the room.

He had one of his button up shirts in his hand when he looked up and saw Molly standing in the door way, her eyes glistening as she looked at him. She bit down on her lip as a stray tear fell down her cheek.

"You…" she trailed off.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but could not control a smirk flickering on his face. "I what?" he asked innocently.

Molly calmly walked over to him and pulled the shirt out of his hands, letting it fall to the floor as she looked up. Her hands came up to cup his face, her eyes drifting to her finger every few seconds.

Sherlock brought his hand up, his thumb gliding under her eye to wipe away the moisture. Molly pulled her hands from his face and stood on her tip toes, her mouth gravitating toward his. When she was just a breath away from his lips, she felt a finger on her mouth stopping her movements.

His other hand found vice holding her left hand. He lifted it up, sweeping his thumb across her knuckles and gazing down at the ring on her finger.

"You did not answer my question," he reminded her, a smile still on his face, smug from her reaction.

Molly beamed as she looked from the ring to his eyes. "Yes," she said softly, feeling a lump in her throat. "Yes, Sherlock, it's always yes," she affirmed.

Her arms slid up around his neck as he closed the distance between them, Molly letting out a soft mewl into his mouth.

They found their way onto the bed as Sherlock's fingers explored her skin. Molly let her mouth find comfort along his jaw, his throat, his collarbone, but did not leave his lips for long.

"I'm calling out today," she mumbled to him, both of them now smiling under their kiss.


End file.
